


I Wish You Were Dead

by Supergoddess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Dark, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to lovers to enemies to lovers again?, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Romance, Slow Burn, Violence, it's a rollercoaster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27213520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supergoddess/pseuds/Supergoddess
Summary: How will she make peace with death, if it never ceases to breath down her neck? And what if their relationship is more intimate than she knows? What if thoughts could kill?Priscilla finds solace in the last place she would have expected; the arms of Draco Malfoy. But what happens when she learns that he’s not who he seems?A slowburn lovestory between Draco Malfoy and Priscilla Styx. It starts during fifth year, but will progress over at least the sixth and seventh, as well.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	I Wish You Were Dead

Draco had the common room to himself. He liked the quiet, liked to close his eyes and loosen his shoulders a little, when no one was watching. But his mind was far from silent. He was tired of hiding things, of always having to put on a mask. A mask he had thought was his true self, and it _had_ been, for all his life, but now … he wasn’t so sure anymore. It was getting harder and harder to ignore. Not just that, but with the things he now knew … He couldn’t let himself think too hard on it, couldn’t allow the feelings to surface, couldn’t afford it.

He finished his tea. It had gone cold, but he drank it anyway, and sat the cup down. He had to stop himself from wringing his hands, and put them firmly on the table, leaning forwards, letting his neck slump. He sighed, staring down into the contents of his cup, at the residue of tea leaves, and was suddenly reminded of divination class with that nutcase Trelawney. In his own cup, he saw something that looked dangerously close to a skull. _How fitting_. He wasn’t sure if he believed that kind of thing, but couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine. What did it mean again? _Danger_ , he thought. _Danger in your path, yes, that was it_. Trelawney had seen it in Potter’s cup that one time.

He picked it up for a closer look. Didn’t it even look like there was a snake coming out of it? No, not quite. It looked more like a … cross. He remembered that too, from a textbook, _Unfogging the Future_ , wasn’t it? For a second, he feared it meant death, but no, that was The Grim, of course. But it wasn’t a good omen. That much he could remember.

 _Get a grip_ , he thought to himself, bringing the cup down hard and smashing his fist into the table, making the cup topple over. It rolled off the edge and landed with a shattering clang, now chipped. He didn’t even care enough to use the reparo spell, or even pick it up, so he kicked it under the couch instead.

His friends would show up any moment now, he knew, so he tried to lean back into the cushions and at least give the impression of being relaxed. And, sure enough, not a moment later, they burst through the door in a fit of laughter.

“Draco!” Pansy exclaimed. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you! You’ve been here the whole time?”

Draco brandished a winning smile, but when he spoke, his voice was somber. “Where else would I be?”

* * *

“I’m glad we could make this work Professor McGonagall. Priscilla has … had a rough year, but I’m sure she’ll settle in nicely here at Hogwarts soon enough.”

 _A rough year_ , Priscilla thought, wanting to scoff. Yes, a rough year, certainly, but not quite in the way he would describe it, not nearly. If she had to listen to one more person feeling sorry for her, thinking they knew how she felt, or at least could imagine it … Actually, she didn’t know what she would do. She would probably just nod her head and wait for the topic to move on. It was far easier than telling the ugly truth.

“Of course, Mr. Styx,” she replied, shaking his hand and glancing over at Priscilla, with the look she knew to expect, and to avoid. “I admit, this is not the best year to transfer to Hogwarts, but considering the circumstances … we will of course accommodate your daughter to the best of our ability.” There was a tension in her voice that made Priscilla look up, to see that she was still giving her that tentative look of not knowing the right thing to say. But there was something else there too, like there was something she didn’t _want_ to say.

Priscilla managed a strained smile, which the professor returned, almost as weary.

“There is the matter of her house,” she continued, turning towards her father again, relaxing a fraction. “I understand there were none at the school she attended? Are you familiar with Hogwarts’ school houses?”

“Yes, of course,” her father answered, for the both of them.

“Well … this won’t be a grand sorting ceremony, I’m afraid. Can’t very well summon the whole school for the sorting of one singular student, now can we?” McGonagall remarked with less mirth than she might have intended. “In any case, I’ll go fetch the hat.” With that she left them in nervous anticipation.

 _The hat?_ Priscilla thought, in passing, before the nerves took over. She wasn’t sure what to expect, nor what to hope for, _or_ fear. She would make a terrible Gryffindor, that much she was sure of. Brave was the last word she would use to describe herself. But she couldn’t quite see herself in Hufflepuff either, even if that was the house her father had her pegged for. Maybe Ravenclaw? It was her father’s house after all. Then again, probably not. Once upon a time, she might have made a fine ravenclaw, but her days of being at the top of the class was over. Slytherin? No way. Right?

“You’ll do fine,” her father assured her. “The sorting hat knows what it’s doing.”

This about the hat again? Did everyone know what that meant, but her? “ _I_ don’t know,” she replied. “Where I belong, I mean.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. You’ll fit right in, either way.”

She knew he was only saying it to make her feel better, but it had the opposite effect. She had never fit in anywhere. He knew that, didn’t he? Maybe he was right. Maybe Hufflepuff was the best house for her. Somehow, she was still opposed to the idea, though. Somehow, she didn’t feel _good_ enough. But she didn’t have more time to think about it, as McGonagall returned with an old, worn hat … and it spoke.

“What is the meaning of this? I’m not some accessory, you know, to be taken out on a whim. I don’t suppose you want to me to sing for this one as well … I really haven’t had the time to make up anything new, or even practice, or prepare. Well, what’ll it be then?” the hat demanded, looking from one to the other, but eventually rested its creased gaze on Priscilla.

“That won’t be necessary. All we need is a house, and then you can go right back to your busy life,” McGonagall assured it with resignation. “Are you ready?” she asked, this time directed at none other than Priscilla herself.

 _No_ , she thought, but knew she had to be. She wanted it over as much as the rest of them, so she gave her consent and sat carefully still, as the professor lowered the surly hat onto her head.

“Well, well,” the hat grumbled, adjusting itself. “Curious indeed … To be honest, I thought I had you pinned down from the moment I saw you … but no, it’s not quite right, is it? There’s more to you than … hmm.”

If the hat was reading her mind, then it knew the truth as well as her. How her mother had died, how she truly felt about it, how she hadn’t really had a rough year, but rather a rough life, and how she wasn’t sad at all, just beside herself with rage.

“Yes, child, you hide it well, but I can see right through you,” it mused, answering her thoughts, probably relishing in her discomfort too. “I sense a lot of anger in you … determination, defiance, intelligence, and yet … sympathy, loyalty … oh, you want me to shut up, do you? Well, I suppose we can cross patience off the list.”

She realized quickly that it was much harder to keep from thinking something, than from saying it, and her face went hot. She was just so nervous the hat would let slip something her father really, really didn’t need to hear. He was already looking rather disconcerted, and she had a sneaking suspicion where this was going.

“You’re quite right,” the hat answered, causing her heart to drop. “Slytherin it is!”

McGonagall moved to take it off, but her father intervened. “Are you absolutely sure? I know my daughter well enough to recognize that she’s not … like that. She’s always been a good kid. Timid.”

She wanted to laugh. He didn’t know her in the least. Not that she wasn’t a good person, but she had grown up with her mother in Norway, unfortunately, which is why they had never been very close. He wasn’t much better than her, though, and if things had been different, he probably would have screwed her up in his own special way. He hadn’t really tried to get to know her anyway, nor was she sure she wanted him to.

“Oh, please,” the hat spat, offended. “She begs to differ. No, I will absolutely not shut up, you shut your own trap! Look, I know a slytherin when I straddle one. But don’t fret sir, I’m sure she’ll make you proud.”

With that, McGonagall removed it from her head. She looked like she wanted to offer them some words of comfort, but thought better of it. “Well then, I should put him back now. I’ll leave you … to it,” she said instead, and carried the hat away, promising to be right back.

Priscilla cast a cautious look at her father. He seemed thoughtful, but not disappointed, she noted. “Slytherin … well,” he drawled, not meeting her wary eye. “Can’t say I saw that coming. How do you feel about it?”

She shrugged. “Fine, really.”

“Right then.” He didn’t seem to know what to say either, he never did when it came to her. He had always been an eloquent and charismatic man, if not a bit discourteous, none of which were traits she shared with him. She had precious little in common with him, really. “You know … you can always talk to me, whatever it is,” he added, uncertainly.

If only that was true. She had tried to talk to him about what had happened. She had actually told him everything, about how insignificant mother had made her feel. All the horrible things she and her step-father had said. How she had hated herself for most of her life, how she was genuinely convinced she was a horrible person for the longest time. How she _hated_ her. But she hadn’t used that word, fearful that he would call her cold and heartless, like she had, time and time again. She bet her mother wouldn’t have been the least surprised she was sorted into Slytherin. But she had never known the real her either.

“I know,” was all she could bring herself to say, looking at the ground, wishing fervently he would leave already.

“I … care about you.”

She didn’t look up for that either. She believed him, but it still felt weird to her, hearing it. He didn’t use to say it, before her mother died. Maybe he felt like he was somehow obligated to do so now. “I care about you too,” she simply said, feeling her skin crawl a little, honestly unsure if she meant it.

McGonagall finally returned, and not alone. “This is Professor Snape, the head of Slytherin house. He will be showing you to your dormitory,” she announced, standing aside to reveal a tall unsmiling man, who somehow regarded her with both distaste and disinterest at the same time.

“Have you said your goodbyes?” he asked, with a sense of finality.

She looked to her father, who was watching her with something resembling regret. “Yes, well, I better take my leave,” he said, stopping in front of her to briefly stroke her arm. She couldn’t help but flinch a little at the touch. Hopefully, he didn’t notice. “Good luck then. Er, see you.”

She feigned a smile, deciding not to say anything.

As he walked out the door, so did Snape, without gesturing for her to follow, but McGonagall quickly shooed her after him. She threw one last glance after her father, walking in the opposite direction, before hurrying to catch up with the black-clad professor, feeling relieved and anxious, simultaneously.

They walked in dead silence, their steps echoing down the corridor. It was starting to get quite late. The hallways were completely deserted and dimly lit, and it didn’t help that Professor Snape had a distinctly somber air about him, that made her hair stand on end. He walked at a brisk pace, and she had to skip every few steps to keep up, as he took her further and further down, into the dungeons, because of course the slytherin common room was in the dungeons. Where else?

He stopped. “Pureblood,” he said, plainly, and before she could wonder if he was talking to her, a concealed stone panel slid aside to reveal an opening in the wall. “Remember that,” he added, as he stepped inside. She followed wordlessly, as the door fell back into place behind her.

There were still some students lingering in the common room, sprawled across the black leather couches. They fell quiet when the door slid open, and turned to face the two of them.

“To bed. Now,” Snape commanded, and one of the boys made a disgruntled noise. “ _Now_ ,” he repeated, even though they had already started to rise.

“Oh, come on, it’s not even curfew yet,” one boy complained.

“ _Bed_ , Goyle,” Snape snarled as he swept past them.

“Yes, it really is past your bedtime, Gregory,” another retorted, which earned him a dangerous glare from Snape.

There were four of them, she saw. One girl, and three boys, all looking mildly annoyed until they noticed Snape wasn’t alone. They stopped in their tracks for a moment, before the boy named Goyle noticeably wiggled his eyebrows at her. She didn’t respond, and flicked her gaze over the other three, a burly bloke, a girl with a pointed face who looked more curious than sceptical, and a tall icy-blonde fellow who stared her up and down and through, face unreadable. They muttered among themselves, and the girl flashed her a smile, which made her feel a bit more at ease.

Snape was squinting at her now, she realized, gauging her for a second, but that was the only interest he offered. “Parkinson, show miss Styx to her bed,” was all he said before he turned and walked off, snarling one last time at the boys before leaving her alone in the snakepit. They snickered as soon as he was gone, and the Parkinson girl chimed in with her own little chuckle, before looking expectantly at Priscilla.

“Go on, then,” she said, nodding at the stairs.

Priscilla peered at the boys over her shoulder. They had sat back down the minute Snape left, and were watching the two girls closely. Reluctantly, she turned towards the stairs.

When inside the dormitory, Parkinson flopped down on one of the beds. “Who are you, anyway?” she asked, without bothering to lower her voice, ignoring the fact that there were other girls trying to sleep.

She stood there dumbfounded for a second, wondering which bed was hers, before giving a short answer. “Priscilla.” Then she spotted her belongings next to the bed opposite Parkinson’s.

“Pansy. But why are you here?” she persisted.

“I was transferred,” she replied in a lowered voice, afraid to awake or annoy the others, and tried to smile at her. She found her slytherin uniform neatly folded atop the bed, and moved it aside to sit.

“Transferred?” Pansy echoed, sounding slightly surprised, but said no more.

Priscilla undressed and changed into something better fit for bed, though still uncomfortably aware of her gaze. When she chanced a glance at her again, she saw that she had leaned back into her pillows and closed her eyes. She decided to turn off the last of the lights and climbed into the four-poster bed, fumbling to close the draperies to get some semblance of privacy. She was not accustomed to having a shared bedroom, and realized soon enough that sleep would not come easily. Someone was snoring, and however softly, it gnawed at her to no end. She could hear Pansy as well, fiddling with something, clearly still awake. That bothered her too. If she knew herself right, she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep until she was the last person in the room left awake. Damn it if she couldn’t still hear someone out in the common room too, no doubt the boys resuming their revels. She could feel herself starting to resent them. She had only just arrived, and was already itching to box several people’s ears. This was looking to be a great year, indeed.

* * *

She awakened when one of the girls went to the bathroom. She couldn’t quite fall back asleep, and figured she might as well get up. Better that, than wait until the others woke and started asking questions. Besides, her stomach was rumbling something awful.

According to the schedule she found on her nightstand, first period was Transfiguration with Minerva McGonagall. Breakfast, regrettably, was not in another hour and a half, and they weren’t allowed to leave the common room until eight o’clock. But she had no good reason to stay in bed, it wasn’t even particularly comfortable. Perhaps she could inquire about a mattress topper? No matter. She drew the drapery aside and swung her legs off the bed. The only daylight entering the room was a sickening green filtered through the Black Lake. At least it stayed nice and dark there in the morning, so she didn’t have to be blinded awake, but at the same time, it was a bit too dismal for her taste, like living in an aquarium.

After getting dressed and putting on her slytherin uniform and robe, she went straight to the bathroom to freshen up and get ready for her first day. She had to fumble a lot with the tie, something she had never had to wear before, but she thought it looked satisfactory in the end. When that was done with, she went out into the common room and decided to brew some tea to pass the time. As the water started boiling, some of the other slytherins begun emerging from their dorms, all coming to a halt when they noticed her. They looked like they wanted to ask her if she was lost, before they recognized the slytherin badge on her chest. Even so, they still eyed her suspiciously.

There was only a matter of time before one of them would come over. And surely, a tall very slytherin-looking boy caught her gaze and cleared his throat. “Who’s this then?” he asked, for all of them it seemed, as every single one looked like they were awaiting an explanation.

“I’m new,” she said, unsure whether he even wanted her to answer that. There had been something distinctly critical in his voice.

“Yes, I can see that,” he retorted, matter-of-factly, and some of the younger students giggled, making her feel mocked.

She dwelled on his words for a moment before turning back to the counter, mostly because she was blushing aggressively, and said: “Congratulations, then.” She was seriously considering to chug the tea to get away, while it was still scalding hot.

When the heat started to leave her face, she fished the teabag out and went to sit, refusing to meet anyone’s eye.

“Well?” someone else pressed. She didn’t catch just who, and when she looked up, she accidentally met the prig’s eye again. He was actually looking at her with amusement, but for all she knew, he might just have been sneering. His face seemed to be permanently displaying some level of disdain.

“Priscilla,” she replied, carefully blowing on the hot drink, to keep from shifting anxiously under their scrutinising stares.

“Priscilla?” the tall boy continued, unmistakeably questioning. They wanted to know if she was pureblood, that was obvious enough.

“Styx,” she finished, solemnly.

That seemed to satisfy him somewhat. Slowly, she realized he must have recognized it. What if he knew what had happened? What if he told people? On the other hand, she had a suspicion that she wouldn’t need to worry about any of her fellow students feeling sorry for her, even if they _did_ know what she had been through. “Blaise Zabini,” he returned, instantly sounding slightly more accommodating. She had heard about him actually, had heard that his mother had been widowed seven times, had heard that she was a bit of a … black widow.

Once again, she was at a loss for words. ‘Pleasure’ didn’t feel entirely appropriate, displeasure was more along the lines of what she was feeling, but that would probably have been even less appropriate. She just nodded, sipping, or rather gulping down her tea, even if it singed a little.

Bellowing laughter flooded the room, making her jump and stiffen, immediately thinking they were laughing at her. But then she realized it had come from the back of the room, as the group of boys from yesterday had come forth from their dorms. She took that as her cue, putting down the rest of her tea, and rose to leave without even looking their way.

 _At long last_ , she thought at as the stone door closed behind her. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be making too many friends, and could probably forget about befriending anyone in her own house. She hoped the other houses weren’t too prejudiced against slytherins, though she could hardly blame them if they were.

She headed back the same way Snape had taken her the night before, trying to recall the way to The Great Hall. The smell of breakfast food helped her sense of direction considerably, and soon she found herself at the entrance, taking in the rows upon rows of food. There were only a few students at the tables yet, none of them slytherins, which made sense, as she had been the first out the door. Only one table was unoccupied, presumably the slytherin table, so she went to sit at the far end, hoping for some solitude.

She had begun helping herself to some eggs and fried sausages, and filled her cup with coffee, when the familiar rowdy bunch of boys entered the hall. They couldn’t have been far behind her, after all. She watched them out of the corner of her eye as they settled at the middle of the table. She recognized Goyle and the two other boys, but Pansy wasn’t there. The smug one with the conspicuous silver hair was filling his plate with greed, laughing and talking. She tried to make out what he said, but the hall was starting to fill up with a growing murmur of chatter as more and more students filed through the entrance. Giving up, she sliced a piece of sausage and paired it with some eggs, chewing thoughtfully, and throwing glances at the arriving students, vaguely dreading to see Blaise again.

Her eyes wandered back to the silvery blonde and his friends, wondering faintly if his hair was bleached or natural. He seemed to be the head of the group, which had now grown with the addition of a couple more boys. They all looked to him, as he went on and on about something clearly captivating, and laughed in unison as he finished. He was quite attractive actually, but in such an obvious way that it did not entice her, and there was something about him she didn’t quite like, although she couldn’t put her finger on it. He was pretty though, too pretty, and she had a feeling he knew it all too well.

Their eyes met across the table. He said something to his friends, without breaking eye contact, and they turned in her direction. It took her a moment to gather herself and look away, mortified, with the distinct feeling they were talking about her. She resolved not to look at anyone for the rest of the meal. That was, until she spotted Pansy, on her way to sit with the boys, she assumed. But then her eyes found Priscilla, and to her surprise, _and_ dismay, she headed towards her.

She tried to pretend she hadn’t seen her, but that clearly didn’t stop her from prancing over and making herself comfortable. “There you are!” she exclaimed, sounding exasperated. “I’ve been appointed to show you around, you know. I’m a prefect. You can’t just go off on your own, unless you want to get yourself lost forever in the chamber of secrets or something …”

“Well, no one told me that,” Priscilla replied between bites, wondering what the hell that even meant.

“Why are you sitting here all by yourself, anyway? Are you contagious or something?”

She fought to hide her irritation. “The table was empty when I got here.”

Pansy didn’t bother to push it, and started to load up on cereal. “Do you mind if we scoot down a bit? I don’t fancy sitting all the way down here like some loser,” she added, and got up without waiting for her consent.

Down a bit? That could only mean she wanted to go sit with the _boys_. Not knowing what else to do, she gathered her things, and reluctantly trailed after her. Pansy sat down next to the silver-haired boy, leaving Priscilla to sit facing her, next to Goyle.

“Well, well, Pansy _actually_ deigns to grace us with her presence,” he teased, cocking an eyebrow at her, before catching a quick glimpse at Priscilla as she settled in.

“Shut your gob, Draco,” she muttered and smacked him on the shoulder in retaliation.

Draco. Yes, he seemed exactly like a Draco, Priscilla thought absentmindedly, while pouring herself another cup of coffee. She didn’t even particularly like the taste of plain black coffee, but she was far too sleep deprived to consider going through the day without caffeine. Hell, she was so tired she could just about feel the weight of the bags under her eyes.

“Butterscotch?” Draco asked, and she looked up instinctively, but he wasn’t speaking to her, needless to say. He proceeded to hand the candies out to them one by one, except for Pansy, who impolitely declined. His eyes then came to rest at Priscilla, lingering for a moment. She looked hesitantly back at him, unsure if he was offering or not, but then he just put them away and turned back to his friends.

 _Gee, thanks_ , she thought, feeling rather rejected. He didn’t like her either then.

She tuned out of their conversation after that, losing herself in bored thought. No one noticed though, or cared. None of them really acknowledged her presence, other than glancing at her from time to time. But they didn’t try to talk to her even once, which was a kind of relief. Not that she came across particularly approachable. She just sat, listening to them talk, looking between them sometimes, and quickly away again if anyone met her eye. But after a while she started feeling rather restless.

So, she stood up, something which finally caught Pansy’s attention.

“You’re going?” she asked.

“I need to get ready for class. I’ll be in the common room.”

“If you say so,” she replied with a shrug, turning back to the others.

Without sparing any of them another glance, she walked off. There wasn’t much time left before transfiguration class, but she took what she could get, to be alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to anyone who took the time to read! I apologize if I made any mistakes. English is not my first language. Also, I haven’t read the books in years, so sorry in advance if I make any mistakes. I’ve rewatched the movies several times though, and do pleeeeenty of research while writing. I’m too mad at JK to reread the books right now hahah. This also happens to be my first fic, that I’ve shared anyway, but I’ve been working on original stuff forever. I've already got most of the next chapter ready btw ;) So, enjoy! I hope!


End file.
